


I Just Need A Stronger Dose

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medication, Mental Illness, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete was so sure they'd work, but they didn't.<br/>Now he's just getting worse and worse<br/>With no hope in sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Need A Stronger Dose

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off real life events, things haven't been the best for me which is why I haven't posted anything for the past few months, but I am getting back into writing, slowly.

Pete stared at the bottle of pills, different anti depressants once more, these were the third ones that he was going to try.

The last two didn’t do shit, when he was manic, everything was fine to him, even if the things he did weren’t exactly normal to the average person.

But he was on top of the fucking world while in that state, nothing could bring him down, the bassist could have all the sex he wanted, act like himself on stage and be flamboyant, kissing Patrick and spinning his bass around.

Now that his manic episode died down, it was back to feeling so god damn sorry for himself and suicidal, and so his therapist prescribed something else for him.

When Pete was down, he barely did anything, it was even a struggle to get out of bed at times so he would have to get one of the band members to get him up and ready for the day.

The pills never worked.

Pete was starting to feel like he was a lost cause, he felt like he was never going to get better.

He never wanted to be mentally ill to the point where he could have died back in 2005, he didn’t fucking want it.

But that’s all what Pete knew, his mental illness, his bipolarity had become a part of him for such a long time.

Before everything. 

Pete opened the bottle and looked at the little white pills, it was only the starting dosage but his therapist said that he could get the benefit within a few weeks’ time.  
He hoped it was true.

Besides, third time’s the charm, right?

Since Pete was getting so sick and tired of the switches between meds and upping dosages to the max and still having those episodes, not being able to keep his emotions stable and regulated like a normal person. 

He just wanted to feel normal, not having to depend on meds for the rest of his life but he knew it was never going to happen. 

But Pete was also grateful for people supporting him through the never ending battle that is his bipolar disorder. 

If it weren’t for them making sure he doesn’t really hurt himself when he’s either manic or depressed, he would’ve probably gotten himself killed by now.

All Pete could do now is keep on with life and hope for the rest, even though he was losing hope so quickly.

He sighed and capped the bottle back on and placed it on the counter.

Maybe he should try again.

Maybe with those pills and the left over ones from before.


End file.
